Electra, maddened by a seemingly impossible mission to kill the mother and stepfather who killed the rightful king, her father, cries out to the heavens as she runs on the grassy expanse of Annette Strauss Square, hemmed in by the rigid, towering buildings of downtown Dallas that suggest the powerful forces trying to control her.

Electra, played by Abbey Siegworth, performs during Electra on Tuesday, April 4, 2017 in Annette Strauss Square at the AT&T Performing Arts Center in Dallas. (Ashley Landis/The Dallas Morning News)

(Ashley Landis/Staff Photographer)

Audiences line up by the side of Winspear Opera House to get the comfortable, well-fitting headphones they'll need to hear the actors and the ominous, portentous sound design by Broken Chord. After a soundcheck, ushers lead the crowd, single-file, to the first of four distinct locations: a tomb, where a broken Greek column, laid on its side on an altar, suggests the body of Agamemnon, the rightful king.

Some sit on benches and some stand in a U-shape that encircles the altar as Orestes (Yusef D. Seevers, like a coil about to spring), one of the three children of Agamemnon, pays his respects and listens, along with the patrons, as the disembodied voice of his father (a sorrowful, majestically certain Alex Organ), recaps the king's story, of the sacrifice he made that enraged the queen, of his injunction to his children of what they must do to save and serve their nation.

The tale moves next to Annette Strauss Square, where everyone sits in folding chairs, and the headphones allow you to hear the most intimate whispers, allowing for the intimate audio afforded by films. Abbey Siegworth's passionate Electra clarifies the conundrum as she faces off against her sister, Chrysothemis (Tiana Kaye Johnson, caring and conflicted), who makes the sensible argument for staying quiet to survive, and her mother, Clytemnestra (the masterful Sally Nystuen Vahle), who makes her case as the one with right on her side.

Moriarty's elegant, poetic translation cuts through layers of time to make a pointed and passionate statement, with questions that flap in the wind like the tattered cloths on the walls of the crypt. When Chrysothemis' urge to act is tempered by her steady reasonableness, you can hear echoes of everyone in every age who sat quietly and sanely, hoping someone else would fight the impossible fight. When Orestes and Electra set out to do battle, he with a knife and she with her voice, they go with the audience knowing that even when you win the battle, you may not survive the horror of what you need to do to prevail.

The audience places candles in a reflecting pool during a performance of Electra on April 4, 2017 in Annette Strauss Square at the AT&T Performing Arts Center in Dallas

(Ashley Landis/Staff Photographer)

Also making an impact in the lean cast: David Coffee as the loyal servant to Electra and Orestes, who never lost faith as he watched over Orestes in years of hiding until the boy became a man; and Tyrees Allen as the strong man, Aegisthus, the man of opportunity who saw a queen and kingdom ripe for the taking. Diggle's spare, tellingly detailed sets that make the most of what is already there, Claudia Stephens' contemporary costumes and Aaron Johansen's lighting, which enhances the bright green and red neon of the neighboring building, serve as a reminder that this sadly relevant story is for this time and this moment.

Electra may be the story of an interfamily war, but then, on some level, so are all fights within the human family, with many internal struggles that pit family members against each other. Like the stories of those who helped slaves escape through the Underground Railroad or who hid Jews during the Holocaust, Electra is a story about the definition of what it means to be a patriot when you are being commanded to follow immoral laws.

For those who want to keep the conversation going, there'll be a Come Early lecture an hour before each performance and a Stay Late post-show discussion after each show.